


Followed

by gauthannja



Series: The Art of Management [1]
Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7487628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gauthannja/pseuds/gauthannja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mamori buys tofu alone at night, in spite of certain a feeling she has...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based primarily on knowledge of the anime.  
> T+ rating for coarse language (I mean, Hiruma is a main character, so...).

            Anezaki Mamori had a feeling that she was being followed.

            Even with Sena and Monta there, dragging themselves from a grueling practice in the dying light of dusk, she could still sense it. Over the last few months rather than making her nervous it had become a comfort, but all the same she threw a careful glance over her shoulder, alert to any minor suspicion that may betray itself in the street. But she saw nothing.

            Her phone pulsed. It was a message from her mother asking her to buy some soft tofu on the way home, if it wasn’t too late. Mamori felt ripples of that glow she always had when she could help her mother in the smallest way. She skimmed the message again and then checked the clock. It was getting cold, but there was still time. They had already passed the small tofu shop, the one that also sold oden to hard-working salary men and stayed open later than most, but suddenly it didn’t seem so far away.

            “Umm…” She began timidly. Sena and Monta looked completely exhausted. Practice had been murderous under Hiruma’s tyrannical rule, despite the fact the next tournament in sight was months away. The two were now practically sleepwalking, occasionally moaning about the distance that remained between them and their beds and how temptingly comfortable the sidewalk seemed. At her voice they stopped and turned with dead eyes.

            She hesitated. If she asked, she knew they would find the strength to go back with her, but it seemed monstrously cruel. “You two go on ahead. Mama just asked me to pick something up.” She smiled and held up her phone as if in explanation.

            The boys looked at her, then turned back on their route without protest.

            “H-Hey!!!” she stuttered, shocked at their complete indifference.

            “Bye…” Sena’s raised hand was a feeble goodbye gesture. “See you tomorrow…”

            Mamori watched the distance stretch between them. She knew people thought she was over-protective, but she was starting to believe it. It was true that she felt friendship meant showing concern for others, for their well being, their happiness and their _safety_. It was true that she perhaps showed that concern more openly and more vocally than others. They hadn’t tried to stop her. They hadn’t offered to go with her nor had they even warned her to be careful. That didn’t mean they didn’t care about her. Silly, irresponsible boys sometimes forgot to say the things they ought to. Thinking of them as silly boys, even after everything they had accomplished, brought a smile to her face. When all was said and done, that was what they were: silly boys who were good at sports. She hoped they could manage to make it home without her.

 ~*~

            It was dark by the time she slipped backward through the shop curtains into the street, still bowing in thanks to the kind old woman who had filled her bag with more tofu than she had rightfully paid for. Each wiggly block reminded her of her mother’s cooking, and she had to suppress the childish glee that filled her at the thought. She was a high school student, after all, and very nearly a _third-year_ at that. So, rather than skipping home, she contented herself with smiling at her success.

_I should let Mama know!_ Mamori thought as she turned the corner. She flipped open her phone and quickly typed out a message, adding as many cute emoji as she could think to include. She then revised for spelling, clarity and tone. Finally pleased, she pressed send with a nod of approval.

            As she slipped the phone back in her bag, she came to the space between two buildings that formed a narrow alleyway. She had passed it many times. There were always cases of empty sake bottles waiting to be picked up. Sometimes kitchen staff of the neighboring izakaya would be leaning against them on their smoke break. Sometimes there would be a stray cat using them as a watchtower. At that particular moment, two men were sitting on them as they finished off what seemed to be their 6th round of Asahi Super Dry, if the cans scattered around them were any indication.

            Approaching this scene registered in her internal file of potential risks for young ladies walking alone at night. Mamori looked away quickly and focused her attention on the ground before her. _Don’t make eye contact. Walk normally. Pretend you don’t notice them and they won’t notice you._ She wasn’t sure how she came by these superstitions, but believing in them somehow calmed her. Besides, she had done karate and judo AND kendo throughout elementary school, and was nearly as good at them as calligraphy, flower arranging and all her other after-school activities. She was ready for a couple drunks, if it came to that. But it wouldn’t come to that.

            “Ohhh? What’s this?” One of the men had stood. She heard his uneven steps lurch toward her and his scuffed shoes appeared in that line of sight she had so carefully focused straight ahead. Mamori took a step back. Now that he had seen her, it made no difference if she looked at him. Nothing about him was remarkable. He was of average height and average build, wearing ordinary clothes. She wasn’t sure if there was such a thing as an ordinary age, but she had trouble guessing how old he was. A bit younger than middle age, maybe, but a bit older than a young adult. Yet he stood in her path with the confidence of a man who imagined himself to be cooler than average after a few drinks. The way he looked at her was average for the type of guy who thought himself something special. As his gaze returned to her face she tried mask her disgust; this situation had already escalated more than she would have liked, and a demure expression could prevent it from worsening. In an average situation that might be enough but something unsettling was in the air.

            “Well… very nice.” He felt his appraisal was worth sharing, apparently. “What a pretty mouth.”

            Her eyes followed the awkward movement of his hand reaching out as if to touch her face. Instinct brought her arm up in a sweep to deflect him –not to strike, just to push away. It was the most basic of moves, but simple and effective. She had not planned to make an opening, but when she saw it her next actions revealed themselves in a premonition of escape. She dashed through the space she had created below his arm and passed him down the street. A short sprint would put a safe distance between them. She would turn the next corner. And that would be the end of their encounter.

            As she had foreseen, she slipped past him easily, but her sprint was stopped short by a sharp tug. He had reached after her, catching her by the wrist.

            “Where are you going?” His smooth voice grated at her hope, stinking of alcohol and tobacco and the rot of his breath. There must have been a dozen moves to get out of this, but in that crucial moment her memory failed. Under the crush of his grip she was forced to release the bag of tofu, but the pain didn’t stop. It grew instead as he twisted her arm behind her back and pushed her into the alley where his friend was lighting a cigarette. Another drunk who thought he was something. He exhaled smoke.

            “Lemme see.”

            She tried to find a way to twist free but every direction only heightened the pain. The intense pressure that ran through angle of her arm seemed to cut through her shoulder, forcing her down, but the sharp pebbles against her knees felt like nothing. She had the sensation of being drowned. There was no way out.

            “Hey!” the first one growled, “My friend wants to see.”

            He slid his free hand through her hair, grabbing a fistful to turn her face up. His friend put on a dismissive air, yet he had to agree. “You’re right. Such a pretty mouth…”

            She saw his hand move to his belt. Sick fear swelled from her core, washing over the fire in her muscles and joints, flooding her mind and quickly becoming a fever. She threw her weight against every point of restraint. She had forgotten all words except _fight fight FIGHT_.

            The metal clasp was the first of three clicks. The second was a digital shutter. The men heard it too, and turned toward the sound. They watched silently for a long moment before they heard the third click – the scrape of the safety latch pulled back on a semi-automatic weapon. Then the night erupted in a thunder of bullets, like fireworks goaded on by cackling laughter. Though they were only warning shots fired into the sky, the men recoiled instantly, losing their cool. Not quickly enough. Matching gun barrels against their jaws pressed their faces into the wall. Glowing eyes and a fang-filled grin came into focus and the laughter ended.

            “Would I be wasting my breath to say this will never happen again?” Their assailant pressed the metal harder against the soft flesh of their cheeks, feeling the corrugated texture of their teeth through the skin.

            “You know I what I have on my phone now. Something you probably don’t want the cops to see. Now, normally this would be the moment when you promise to become my slaves, but you don’t deserve that, do you?” The men shook their heads slightly, afraid to move but equally afraid to anger him further. The blond gunman leaned in for a close whisper. “No, that’s not what I want. I want something else.” He examined them, eyes flashing ominously, as they squirmed under his gaze. “There are some parts of you that you might miss more than others… but which would I take first?” The laughter bubbled up again, and he flung back his head with what seemed like mirth. No longer pinned under the barrels of the guns, the men took the opportunity to flee down the alley. Rounds of rubber bullets at their heels sped them along.

            When they were out of sight, Hiruma returned his weapons to their case and slung it over his shoulder casually, a gesture so repeated he barely noticed doing it.

            Mamori pushed herself to her feet. If she had been drowning before, she could now draw raw, briny breaths. It had happened so fast. She ran a hand over her hair where her scalp still ached. The scene replayed in her mind, from tucking her cellphone away to the sound of the bullets. It must have taken less than a minute. She touched the tender muscles in her shoulder and tried to move her arm. Elbow, wrist, fingers-- each responded with a dull swell of pain rather than in sharp bolts. Everything seemed to be connected properly, at least. Still… Less than a minute and she had failed to protect herself. The scene looped in her mind at the pace of the frosted clouds of her breath and her composure crumbled slightly after each repeat. If Hiruma hadn’t come… In the dim light the corners of her eyes glistened. Brushing the dirt and small stones from her knees revived the bitter sting she had ignored before, but there was no blood. She pulled the tops of her socks up higher to cover the scraped skin.

            “I was late.” His voice was closer than she expected. She wasn’t sure how long he had been there beside her. His hard narrow eyes were trained carefully on her face as though he could see into her thoughts, but try as she might, she couldn’t read his. He held out the plastic bag. “I won’t be late again.” His words had the gravity of a promise.

            The tofu, each block on a tray in its own bag of liquid, had been tipped and some crushed, but they seemed edible. Tears formed in earnest when she imagined again what recipe her mother had in mind for that evening. As if on cue, Hiruma turned and headed back toward the street, and she was thankful for the privacy. After a moment she followed behind him, trying to blot her eyes and master her breathing without drawing attention. So badly she wished she could believe in his promise. It was so like him to take all the responsibility on his shoulders, never trusting anyone else to do whatever he decided was important, arrogantly believing he could control everything. But this wasn’t football, it was life-- _her_ life. On this field she was the quarterback and it was her play that had failed.

            And yet, he was wrong.

            He hadn’t been late. He had made it before the clock ran out.

            Immersed in what-ifs and what-might-have-beens, she followed Hiruma’s lead without a thought to where he was taking her. Only when he stopped did she become aware of her surroundings. At the unfamiliar sight of him standing in front of her gate she realized that this was the first time he had ever walked her home.

_Home._ She hadn’t thought he even knew where she lived, but it should not have really been a surprise. After all, information was his currency. Yet it was a place that seemed to be the opposite of everything he represented: the scheming, the swearing, the guns and the threats. To bring her here of all places seemed uncharacteristically considerate.

            “Please, wait just a moment!” She was sure he would slip away into the darkness without a word as soon as she opened the gate. He didn’t reply, but shifted his stance as if to comply. Detecting such cues was essential to understanding Hiruma Youichi.

            Mamori ran to the door and called into the house, “Mama! I’m home! Can my friend stay for dinner?”

            Behind her Hiruma seemed to shrink into the shadows.

            “Welcome back!” Her mother appeared in the doorway. “Of course, that would be lovely. The more the merrier.”

            Mamori gestured to the figure in the gateway before he could disappear. No proper introduction would be forthcoming, of this much she was certain. “Hiruma walked me home.”

            “Oh, this is Hiruma!” Her mother’s tone was polite and friendly, as ever. She bowed. “Thank you for taking care of her. Please come in.”

            A distressed line crossed Hiruma’s face where a confident smirk or maniacal grin would usually be found. Mamori’s mother didn’t seem to notice, but she spied the bag in Mamori’s hand. “Oh, is this the tofu? Thank you, Mamori, I’ll take it to the kitchen.”

            After she had disappeared Hiruma muttered, “Were you going to ask my fucking opinion on this?”

            “Hiruma,” Mamori faced him squarely, “I must thank you properly. This is my way. Please do this for me.”

            He sighed in defeat and slipped off his shoes in the entrance.

~*~

            When Mamori slid open the door to bring in the meal, Hiruma was stretched out on the tatami. Propping his head up by one arm, he sipped the tea she had left him while she helped her mother prepare the meal, a foot rubbing his leg idly. Without a chair to lean back on she supposed this must be the equivalent position, thankful at least that his feet weren’t on the table. With that wild hair and those eyes betraying no interest in anything, he looked like… he looked like Hiruma. She held back a smile as she transferred the tiny dishes from the tray to their settings. As she placed furthest bowl, however, she had to suppress a sharp gasp, realizing too late she had over-reached the limits of her shoulder. She willed herself not to spill as she carefully lowered it to the table.

            Hiruma’s eyes slid toward her. “Your arm?”

            Mamori nodded, carefully aligning the last plates. “It’s fine. Just sore.”

            He gathered up his long limbs into a sitting position that was nearly as casual as when reclined. He examined the setting. “Fish, vegetables, pickles, miso soup… what a balanced meal.”

            She wasn’t sure if he was being facetious. “Mama is bringing the rice any second, don’t worry.” Perhaps this whole thing had been a terrible idea.

            Her mother entered with her soft smile and gracefully set each bowl in place. She placed two in front of the teenage boy she had only heard about through tales of the football club, but she wondered if she should have brought him three. He was, after all, very tall. Mamori and her mother both put their hands together to give thanks for the meal, but Hiruma began eating before they even said the words. Mamori was horrified, but her mother’s smile didn’t waver.

            “Did you really make this?” Hiruma asked half into the bowl of miso soup. The tiny cubes of tofu were slightly crushed, but it clearly didn’t affect their taste.

            “Mama made the broth. I only helped a little,” Mamori tried to explain. He didn’t seem to understand how long broth needed to simmer. She had only been home long enough to chop some fresh ingredients to add before serving.

            “What does your family put in their miso soup, Hiruma?” her mother asked.

            Hiruma snorted. “Lady, my miso soup is whatever packet I happen to grab, alright?”

            “Hiruma!” Mamori rose from her seat. “You are talking to my mother! Please speak to her with more respect!”

            He reached for some pickles. Mamori fumed. “Apologize to her!”

            “It’s alright, Mamori,” her mother said, studying the boy in front of her thoughtfully, “I think Hiruma hasn’t had someone make miso soup for him in a long time.”

            Hiruma tried to return her stare, but before long turned back to his food. Mamori felt a confusing sadness creeping into her heart. She raised her bowl to her mouth, the warm smell of home caressing her face. The tofu swayed in the cloudy broth, nestled among wakame and spring onions. This meal was a blessing that she felt as an ache.

            After dinner her mother left them with tea and little sweets. Mamori poured carefully, and Hiruma glared in disapproval. They drank without speaking. Many long moments had passed before Mamori had gathered her courage. Softly, she broke the silence. “Hiruma…”

            He responded with the slightest shift of his eyes.

            “How long have you been following me?”

            This time he looked away. The silence stretched on until she couldn’t bear it. “It was you, wasn’t it? All this time…”

            He wasn’t denying it. Her anger only flared long enough to burn up the anxious knot that had been twisting inside her. She cupped her tea in her hands, relaxing a little. “After a little while I thought that being followed felt like being with a friend. But I also thought…well, I must be crazy, or stupid. Who thinks like that? Right? So… I’m glad it was you. At least… At least I wasn’t crazy.”

            She thought she saw a flicker behind his eyes as he studied his tea. Finally he spoke. “This whole world is fuckin’ crazy. No one can predict it. No one can control it.” He drained the cup in one sip, then looked at her intently. “You think you should have done something differently tonight, don’t you?”

            Her voice caught in her throat but she managed a nod. She was still adding to the list.

            “That would be a life based on fear. So, I think you can guess how I feel about that. I want you to have all the tofu you want in your miso soup. I don’t care what fuckin’ time it is.”

            Mamori stared at his empty cup. Of course it was her own fault, but he seemed to be suggesting that she should not blame herself. It was permission she had not looked for, but confronted with it was like being struck by driving surf. It came from a deep, unknowable place, sudden and chilling, yet left a taste of what it might feel to be clean. How was such an unfathomable thing so easy for him to say? But these words were meant to explain his actions. He believed them. He lived by them. Her mind reeled.

            “I should go.” He pushed himself to his feet and walked past her without a glance. Thoughts interrupted, Mamori chased him to the door. He was slipping away and she still hadn’t thanked him properly. What had been gratitude a short time before had been changing form. It had been conjugated through the strange glimpses of him she had seen that night. Through the shadow of his upbringing that a single meal had cast. Through what had seemed like the well-intentioned but empty promise of a man blind to the limits of what he could control. And then, once more, through the realization that for months he had been keeping that promise. While she had been watching him from a distance, supporting him from the sidelines, he had been doing the same. It overflowed the capacity of her heart. These were all feelings she only knew to express with her deepest bow, but Hiruma would scorn such a gesture.

            An urgent tug pulled in her chest as he walked out the door and onto the entrance path.

            “Hiruma, wait!”

            She dashed after him, half slipping into her shoes without pausing to secure them. He stopped and turned. There on the step of the entrance she was taller, but still not eye-to-eye with him. She rose to the tips of her toes, bringing her good hand up to his face. For a terrifying moment she thought he would pull away, but just as those fears nearly imploded her heart he responded. His hands caressed her face, protecting the pull of their lips against the faded recollection of what might be proper. The connection between them that was usually stretched across distance folded together, concentrated in one point, taking on its own electric form. Outside that point, nothing existed.

            Too soon, they opened their eyes. They remembered a past life, one in which they were high school students for whom kissing was a scandalous and shameful affair. Blushing fiercely, they turned away.

            If she kept her eyes closed tight and didn’t move the slightest bit, maybe she could go back in time. She would go back and simply say, “I truly and sincerely thank you,” then watch him leave safely from the doorway. Nothing would have changed and neither of them would know what they now knew. She held her breath.

            She did travel through time, of course, but in the wrong direction. At first, in that long silence, time seemed suspended, but the sound of footsteps fading down the path suggested that the future continued to approach. When the sound faded and the silence was restored, she closed her eyes again to revisit that moment.

 


	2. Chapter 2

            An airplane sliced through the flat blue sky. Hiruma watched it from his desk at the back of class 2-3 with envy. It was the first warm day of what wasn’t even properly spring, and he was certain there was something in the criminal code about keeping students indoors on such a day. But he had already decided on his escape. At the front of the class the professor droned on about the assembly they would attend after the bell about university entrance exams. An assembly for something a full year away. Talk about useless. Hiruma leaned back in his chair. The only question was where he would go. The rooftop? The riverbank? Each place he pictured himself going, he noticed he wasn’t alone. There was always a mix of hands and fire. Some part of him recalled that this classroom fantasy time was usually dedicated to planning their next practice regiments and longer-term strategies. Football stuff. The only stuff that mattered. That part of himself was torn between worry and rage. The rest of him didn’t give a damn.

            The chimes rang. The professor beseeched the students to follow instructions. Most did, filing down the hallway toward the gymnasium, though perhaps not as quietly as had been hoped. Hiruma stood, trying to look casual until he could break away from the mob.

            “Hiruma, you look so happy today!!!” Kurita was already at his side. That bastard Musashi was not far behind.

            Hiruma frowned and swore to himself. “Why should I be happy? The entire team has become a bunch of slackers now that the school year is almost over! There is no point having practice. The Devil Bats are doomed.”

            Mushashi grunted, “So you are going to enjoy the assembly, is that it?”

            “Oh, that,” Hiruma broke an evil grin and tapped his book of threats, “I have a doctor’s note.”

            They were moving with the flow of the crowd as far as it brought them closer to the side exit doors. There he had planned to break away, but a telltale flash of auburn caught his eye. Of course it was Mamori, in a group of girls clutching their notebooks and giggling like idiots… and walking away from the gymnasium. Hiruma’s attention was now undivided. It was one thing for a bunch of delinquents to skip the assembly, but Mamori lived for these things. He needed to investigate. “I’ll meet you two dumbasses at the clubhouse in 5 minutes.”

            Kurita and Musashi exchanged glances, but slipped out the doors without argument. This was why he kept them around; they knew when they should not ask questions. Hiruma set out in the direction the girls had gone. He soon noticed other students, most of them known for their academic achievements, heading into a smaller meeting room in another wing of the school. Mamori, at the top of her class, fit in perfectly here. Hiruma, on the other hand…

            “ _Ooooh, Hiruma! Good morning!_ ” Hiruma froze at the over-enthusiastic greeting of the foreign instructor of English who had clearly seen him before he could slip out of sight. “ _How are you?_ ”

            “ _I’m fine, thank you, and you?_ ” He mechanically recited the textbook response through grated teeth. Damn it. Most teachers had the decency to be afraid of him, but ever since she had overheard him say something slightly more creative than average in English she went out of her way to trap him in conversation. What the fuck was her name again?

            “ _I’m great! Thank you!_ ” She smiled, unabashedly showing all her teeth. He supposed she must be pretty, but so strange. Not to mention taller than any woman he had ever met. It made him uneasy. “ _Hiruma, are you going to study abroad? This is wonderful!_ ”

            She made gestures to underline her meaning, but he understood. This was the orientation for the entrance exams to foreign universities. His eyes shifted toward the door. He couldn’t see her but she must be in there. A crack formed in the future he hadn’t realized he had already been imagining.

            “ _Oh, that’s right, Hiruma, you like football, don’t you? Will you study in America? Football is very popular at universities and colleges there. Many college football players become professional athletes._ ”

            Talk about stating the obvious. She might actually think he was stupid. “Heh, study in America? What a waste of time.”

            “ _Ah, a waste of time_ ,” she helpfully translated his response, “ _Oh really? Why is it a waste of time?_ ”

            “ _It - is - a – waste - of - time - because…_ ” he repeated, deliberately slow and choppy to lower her expectations. If she thought he was an idiot he would use that to his own ends. As it was, he had checked into this study-in-America thing already. It wasn’t just the entrance exam scores that American schools wanted; they also looked at the cumulative average for every year of high school. These past two years he hadn’t exactly been applying himself to academics, even though he could have aced every last course if he wanted. Besides, after being the fairy fucking godmother in the Cinderella story that was the Devil Bats path to the Christmas Bowl, he already had a dozen Japanese university teams courting him with scholarships. In other words: “ _…a dozen Japanese birds in the hand are worth a hundred American birds in the fucking bush._ YA HA!!”

            Her dumbfounded reaction was incredibly satisfying. Since she had started targeting him he had been careful to stick to junior high grammar, hoping that she’d chalk up whatever she had heard him say before to some pop culture reference and leave him alone. She couldn't have been prepared for this rapid-fire delivery of his customization of a classic adage. Oh yes, it was a show of speed, power and technique. It had been a while since he had actually left someone speechless. The muscles of his mouth almost hurt from the enormous smile that burst across his face with delight.

            “I see.” Her usual over-the-top cheerfulness had been extinguished, but she forced a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. “What a waste…”

            His grin faded. No matter what he had said or done, she had always stubbornly spoken to him in English. What was this, then, using Japanese now? He looked at her curiously as she turned to the meeting room. Could she be... disappointed in him? That would imply that before this she had believed in him.

            Fascinating.

            For some reason the delight he felt a few moments before had lost its flavour. He pulled out a stick of gum.

            A swarm of keener students were greeting the teacher at the doorway and her bright attitude was restored. Each of them wanted to study abroad, but he couldn’t see the one that mattered.


	3. Chapter 3

            This place was haunted now.

            Mamori had hesitated just out of view of the alley a long moment before she managed to will her feet forward. Despite having passed it countless times without incident, her imagination had conjured all manner of scenes that she might intrude upon there, from yakuza reunions to restless werewolves. She had even considered turning back to make the long detour that would avoid it instead, but that would be a life of fear.

            When she finally mustered the courage to stand between the buildings, the alley was empty. There was no evidence left of the two men or their encounter; the beer cans, the cigarette butts, the bullet shells and even the ache in her shoulder were gone. The immediate grip of fear on her heart relaxed, but the ghosts of the memories from that night slid from the walls and the shadows to coil around her. They were that unnatural chill against her skin and the nauseous pit in her stomach. Yes, this place was haunted, but they were only ghosts. Only memories. They could harass her soul but they could not touch her. She straightened, steeling her nerve, and gave one last defiant stare at the empty alley. Though there was nothing to fear, she preferred not to linger, and turned on her heel for a brisk departure.

            But then something grasped her wrist.

            The terror that seized her was sharper than any she felt before, but also much shorter. It was not the first time this nightmare had visited her. Asleep or wake, the scene had replayed in her mind endlessly since that night she had forgotten how to escape, but each time revised. Whether those fingers were phantom or human, it didn’t matter: this time the ending would be different.

            And it ended quickly. Everything blurred-- the twist of her arm as she turned, slipping free of the grip in a burst of motion, she shifted her weight through her step. The momentum amplified then transformed into a roundhouse kick to the back of the knees, if indeed this creature had knees. She heard the thud of a body against the ground as she turned to the street to escape. She should already be running, but something made her pause. The nails on the long fingers that had clasped her wrist had been pointed. There had been a flash of straw-gold. Mamori closed her eyes and made a silent prayer, but the demon was laughing.

            “Hiruma!!”

            She had missed practice after school that day. The first meeting of the foreign entrance exam committee had not finished so very late, but by the time she was ready to leave the Devil Bats had already gone. She walked home with the other committee members until one by one their paths parted. When her turn had come, they had dutifully protested that she should not go alone, but she assured them she would be fine. She had walked this way hundreds of times before. What she did not say was that she could feel someone watching her and that they really needed to talk. Alone. A tiny shiver ran through her at the thought. She had sworn to herself they would never be alone again. She couldn’t trust herself. It was too dangerous. But she wanted something different than watching him from afar and only ever arguing about football management. The risk of being alone seemed small in comparison. They needed to talk.

            So, after her classmates were out of sight, Mamori spoke to the empty street. “You can come out now.”

            She waited, slowly casting a glance in every direction. She even tremulously looked up, afraid to think he might be jumping between rooftops to follow her. She was relieved to see nothing.

            “Hiruma, I know you are there. Isn’t this a little pointless now?”

            There was no response. She waited stubbornly, sure that she could wear him down, but as time passed she began to wonder if she was trying to reason with the air. Doubts gathered in the corners of her mind. Maybe he wasn’t there. Mamori frowned, trying to dismiss the thought. If he didn’t come out she might as well be arguing with herself. Whether he was there or not, the light was fading. He was just trying to annoy her, she decided, and resolved to ignore him.

            Mamori had held her head up high and walked on as though nothing had happened until she had come to the entrance of the alley. But then she had faced her fears and she had overcome a demon.

            “Keh keh keh!”

            Hiruma lay flat on his back on the ground, consumed with laughter. Whatever fear might have gripped her before, whatever pride of victory, whatever storm of emotions she had felt until that point consolidated into a scorching fury.

            “HOW-”

            She kicked at his side.

            “COULD-”

            Her foot certainly bruised his ribs.

            “YOU!?”

            She struck again and again. Her lashes were wet with rage.

            “How could you?!”

            “Keh keh keh! Ok, ok, stop,” Hiruma gasped as he pulled himself up, “I expected you would get away, not kick my ass!”

            He brushed the dust from his black pants and the matching turtleneck that she so despised, still chuckling to himself. He turned as though to leave.

            Mamori’s voice was a hiss. “How dare you?”

            He paused, watching her over his shoulder. “I wasn’t playing with you back there,” he said, “this isn’t a game. You need to walk past this fucking place again. You need to believe you can take care of yourself. And obviously you don’t have to worry. Keh keh keh!” A smile cracked over his face and she covered her ears to block out the cackling. He resumed his departure.

            “Don’t just walk away!”

            He waved her protests aside, “I’m not going far.”

            “It’s too far!” she snapped. The edge in her voice froze him mid-step. “It’s not okay. Just listen to me for once. I’m not okay with it!”

            Seeing him stopped, she took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice.

            “Hiruma, what you are doing… I appreciate it. Really, I thank you for your concern. But I’m not okay with you watching me like this.”

            He grunted. “Are you saying you haven’t been watching me? I hope you don’t expect me to believe that.”

            “That’s different,” she replied coolly.

            “Really?”

            “You know it is. You understand power better than anyone I know. You know which direction it flows. I watch you because there are places you go that _I can’t go_.” She studied the glint of his eye in the thin shadow of his profile. If he threw back some retort then he wasn’t really listening and it would be wiser to not waste her breath, but he didn’t speak and he didn’t look away.

            “I don’t just watch you," she continued. "We speak across the field. We created something between us that—I don’t know, something beautiful that grew in that distance!” She was starting to sound sentimental, like a sappy romantic. Desperately she swallowed back her emotions.

            “Until recently neither of us knew what it was like to be close,” she mastered a steady, practical tone, “but now it’s different. Now we know. So that’s why… instead of watching me from the shadows, I’m asking you to walk me home.”

            A cruel moment passed before he turned away. Of course he did, but it still stung. A small rip had begun that tore wider as he walked away.

            “If you won’t walk beside me it’s because you are afraid,” she called after him, “And I think you know how I feel about that.”

            That stopped him.

            “Yeah, I am afraid,” he replied. Nothing vulnerable could be heard in those words. Still, Mamori counted this as progress.

            “I’m not asking you to hold my hand,” she clarified, careful not to be mistaken as pleading, “We don’t even need to have a conversation. Nothing has to change at school, on the team. Just, times like this, when I’m alone… don’t creep in the shadows. Walk me home.”

            He turned and moved toward her with long, quick, deliberate strides. An electric tingle bloomed at the base of her neck. It crept down her spine, accumulating in her joints and the tips of her fingers. A fluttering in her stomach rose higher and harder, as though she had swallowed a sparrow that was now trying to escape her chest. With each step the space between closed until he stood barely an inch away. An unbearable distance. His eyes held hers. That wild bird crashed madly in her throat. If she had forgotten what it meant to be close, he would have her remember. In her racing pulse she remembered its power. She remembered the danger, but she also remembered the sweetness of her fears melting away when he kissed her back. Hadn’t she warned herself to never be alone with him again? Meanwhile the ghosts of this place made themselves remembered, too, pressing against her skin.

            “I am fuckin' afraid. And if you aren’t afraid you are a fuckin' liar.” He held his face perfectly still, the stone mask he always used on occasions when he might accidently show weakness. “So you have to promise me you’ll be my manager, even if I fuck this up-- as I most certainly will. Right now you can’t even imagine how it will happen or how much you will hate me for it. Find a way to stick with us.”

            Her eyes widened. She had hoped they could walk side by side. She hadn’t expected bargaining. A promise, even a promise designed to protect him, implied a contract, which implied a commitment. Which she had thought was impossible. And yet… she forced herself to step back, breaking the tight knot of energy that orbited them. Standing so close, looking into her eyes— it was not precisely his book of threats, but not so very different. Getting what he wanted through varying degrees of coercion had become such a habit he didn’t even have to think about. He only expected one answer to his request, but she had to give another.

            “You know I can’t.”

            The flinch of his mouth betrayed the damage these words delivered. Her heart broke. “Second year is almost over, Hiruma. Third years don’t do club activities at Deimon.”

            This only seemed to provoke him. “Do you really think I’m going to let a school rule interfere with the Devil Bats?”

            “I have no doubt that you will do what you need to do to make sure that rule is overlooked,” she assured him. Her faith in his abilities would not be grounds for him to feel betrayed.

            “So?”

            “So? There is a reason that rule exists! Third years are supposed to prepare for the university entrance exams!”

            “You talk like you don’t have a fuckin’ choice. You’re at the top of all your classes. Would it kill you to take a little time for the team? Is this what you choose?”

            “That’s easy for you to say,” she replied, exasperated, “but unlike some people, no matter how well the team does I can’t count on a football scholarship to get me into university!!”

            Some small part of hell must have frozen over: Hiruma opened his mouth retaliate but said nothing. His mind was scrambling to make sense of her words and snap out a solution, but the realities of her life seemed to be at odds with his plans. Mamori sighed to herself. This must be difficult for him.

            “Your tricks can’t help me, do you understand that?” she said gently.

            “That’s only because you’re going to a foreign university!” Indignant and argumentative, he had recovered himself quickly. “You want to talk about distance? What do you call this?”

            “ _This_ is exactly why I want to be close to you now!” Hearing the emotion in her own words she blushed and looked away. She began again slowly, careful to keep her voice even and calm. “You know my grandparents are in America. When I was really small I stayed with them for a while… I don’t even have that many memories of that time, but I remember missing them so much when I got back. I sent them so many drawings and photos and letters. Of course we don’t see each other often, because we’re so far apart, but since I was young I always thought about studying in America, just to be closer to them. But the universities where they live are some of the most competitive, world-class schools…” What had begun as a childhood memory had caught up with the present and she had trouble concealing her anxiety. “Honestly, don’t know if I’d be accepted even if I lock myself in the library for the entire year.”

            “If they don’t accept you then they don’t fucking deserve you. Those are loser schools.”

            “Maybe… I wish I could think like that. I know there are lots of schools that would accept me. Even if it was further from my grandparents’ place, if I could visit them on weekends it would still be better than seeing them once every other year. That should be enough.”

            His eyebrow arched. “But…?”

            “But… ever since junior high I’ve been studying and planning… and somewhere along the way it became my dream to study at one of those top schools! I’ve always been top of my class, top of my grade… Of course I’ll get into university, and probably a good one, too. But if the best school accepts me…” The sentence hung in the air. If she said it out loud she could never take it back, but the momentum of recounting her dream overcame her hesitation. She balled her hand into a defiant fist and turned back to him with a look of determination. “I want to win, no matter what! I won’t give up!”

            Her words echoed in her ears. This time she didn’t blush, but a tiny drum of apprehension beat in her chest. All these years it had been a secret. She held his gaze. He had to understand.

            Hiruma stared back at her with a flat expression. Then the corner of his mouth twitched, and a crazy grin opened across his face.

            “Keh keh keh!”

            Mamori suddenly found her face crushed against his shirt. Breathing was difficult. Perhaps the arm around her head was supposed to be a hug, perhaps he had mistaken her for a football. Luckily he released her quickly, still cackling. Disoriented, Mamori enjoyed the flow of air to her lungs once again. She dared not ask. Dare she? She dared: “What--- What is so funny? I thought you…”

            Hiruma cut her off. “So you can’t be my fuckin’ manager.”

            He turned once again for the exit of the alley, still enjoying some joke with himself. His face was covered with mischief and glee. Mamori knew that face. Her foreboding grew.

            “So I guess I have to be yours!”

            A different kind of fear struck her heart: the healthy terror anyone should have when it came to Hiruma’s schemes. Hiruma as her manager? Her hair stood on end. “W-h-a-aa-at exactly do you mean by that!?!?! What about the team?”

            “Keh keh keh! What the fuck are we still doing in this creepy alley?” he turned with an evil grin, “Come on, I’ll walk you to your doorstep.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading to the end! 
> 
> This piece is the result of my struggle with all the gender stereotypes Mamori and Hiruma are strapped with in this show, and how much I love them despite all this! I wanted to push them without going too far out of character. 
> 
>  
> 
> As for Hiruma-as-manager... I wasn't planning to write that part, but somehow it has become a sequel! Please check the [Devil's Cram School](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8068693/chapters/18487300) for Hiruma & Mamori's third year at Deimon. 
> 
>  
> 
> [ETA 2016-08-07 : changed the ending slightly. H was too ooc and it was bugging me! ]


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